


I Am a Monster

by Luminosus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Dream Bubbles, F/M, Gen, In this case Equius basically having depression, Mostly morails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminosus/pseuds/Luminosus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius hated himself, that much was evident. But it was more than that. He was a monster. (Was he? Nepeta didn't think so.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am a Monster

“I am a monster.”

What makes a monster?

That’s easy – a dark haired, horned, ferocious beast with bright, flickering eyes and sharp, threatening teeth. It’s skin – that is, if you’d call it skin – gray and slick with substance that gives the faint tinge of unfamiliarity, danger, the unknown. From head to foot, this creature’s aura should alert anyone of it’s true intentions – to which, much like it’s presence, is mysterious. What truly makes something a monster is unfamiliarity, instinctual fear, or the unknown.

But he is not a monster.

A dark haired, horned ferocious beast – aren’t we all? - with bright, flickering eyes. Their gaze is soft, should he allow one to see past the shattered, tinted glass he hides them behind. Sharp, threatening teeth, don’t seem so threatening, watching him spit them out like over-chewed gum into the nearest towel after a mechanical brawl or two. His skin, which is most certainly skin, for she’s seen it tear and well up with that royal blue ink – gray (aren’t we all?) and slick with substance that overwhelmingly emanates his being, safety, with a faint tinge of embarrassment. From head to foot, his aura should alert anyone of his true intentions – to which, much like his presence, depends on who you are, or if she is with him. What truly makes him a monster is… what makes him a monster?

“You’re not a monster,” Whimpering, she grasps at his shirt, “I purromise – I mean it, what makes you-”

“I don’t know.” He choked.

“Then what makes you a monster?”

A indecisive, classiest tool unwillingly (yet willingly) oppressed by higher ups, willing to kneel before hypocrisy than before kinship. Someone who cannot be taught, for it is that royal blue ink that runs through those veins, around those eyes he so preciously hides, that teaches him otherwise. Somewhere between an outlier and the middle ground, wanting to break free but simultaneous falling back into those habits – (“Do these foolish lower castes know who they’re talking to?” and “You’re a horrible highblood.”) - all while while begging for punishment in any form. Physical, verbal, emotional, from crimson to fuchsia – he will accept it all. It will be justified any way. He is punishing himself. He is a monster of his own accord.

“Because I am me.”

Her moirail, a quick thinking, well taught blue-blood oppressed by himself, who she is trying to show her pity towards. Incredibly hard to teach, for those values that he had forced upon himself, for that royal blue ink that runs through those veins, and around those eyes (bright, flickering) he so preciously hides, he believes teaches him otherwise. Somewhere between a protector and an executioner, she can tell he wants to break free, but falling back into those habits – (“This is hypocrisy, but why do I crave it?” and “However much it hurts, I must endure it. It is of my blood.”) - and all the while craving that lewd punishment, does not help. Physical, verbal, emotional, crimson to fuchsia, he searches – and will accept it. It is not justified. It is not right. He is punishing himself, no, he’s punishing himself and she can’t watch. She can’t watch him – he is not a monster.

“But that is why I need you,” She yanks him backwards from his hunched position. Flickering eyes are clouded with those royal blue tinted tears. He is not hiding from her. “I need you… because you are you.”

And all those words, on their lips and in their minds, that were never said, would never be heard, and would never be understood – never the less – proved that what truly makes a monster is how one sees oneself.


End file.
